


We Slip and Slide As We Fall in Love

by AnnetheCatDetective



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: (not full-time but for the duration of this particular story), Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Aziraphale is Greedy, Come Inflation, Crowley Encourages This, Dom Crowley, Established Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Feeding, Feeding Kink, Finger Sucking, Hand Feeding, M/M, Praise Kink, Stuffing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-27 11:51:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20045560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnetheCatDetective/pseuds/AnnetheCatDetective
Summary: Crowley indulges Aziraphale until his greedy angel has had enough. It takes some doing, but it's worth it.





	We Slip and Slide As We Fall in Love

The first time Aziraphale had made this particular effort, Crowley hadn’t fucked him once.

He hadn’t been able to pry his head from between his thighs long enough for that.

In Crowley’s mind, he’d gotten his feelings on the matter across quite clearly-- Aziraphale was delectable,_ juicy_, absolute perfection. But Aziraphale had wanted to know if he didn’t like it, if he’d prefer they not do it this way again. Crowley’s mind had fairly boggled at the question-- he wouldn’t spend hours on end tonguing it so enthusiastically if he didn’t like it!-- but Aziraphale had been waiting for Crowley to want to be _ in _ him. He’d wanted Crowley to _ come _ in him.

So Crowley had promised him a next time, and here they are, Crowley buried to the hilt in him, the muscles clenching around him, both of them still a moment, gazes locked, Aziraphale’s arms about his neck, Aziraphale’s thighs soft and warm and _ strong _ where they hold him, Aziraphale’s body a welcoming home.

“I like it, you know.” He says, finally voicing the thought-- the desire-- that he’d struggled with so much since that first time. “When you finish inside of me. I feel…_ treasured_, with your love inside me.”

“Oh, when we do the thing _ you _ like, it’s my ‘love’, when I want to admire my handiwork, it’s my ‘mess’.” Crowley teases. 

“When you let it _ congeal _ in my _ hair_, dear. I do still like when you finish on me. But it’s different…”

“Mm.” Crowley rolls his hips at last, and slips a hand down between their bodies, feeling out where they join. The slickness that covers them both there. The velvet softness of fat outer lips, stretched around his cock.

It’s a neat little thing. Flushes so pink with arousal, opens like a flower at Crowley’s attentions-- Aziraphale’s word for it, ‘attentions’, prim and fussy and needy Aziraphale… It has the same trim and tidy tuft of curls, the same scattering of stray hairs, invisible unless they catch the light just so… _ Pretty_\-- Aziraphale had confessed before that he’d hoped it would be pretty, when he’d put the effort in.

It’s so tight around him and so slick, and Aziraphale makes such lovely little sounds when Crowley angles himself just so, moves his hips in slow circles to tease and then buries himself deep. Aziraphale rocks his own hips then, tries to grind against Crowley for even more friction, and there’s so much he’d like to do with Aziraphale’s sweet pussy, with its thick, rosy lips, with his big clit-- he’d given himself a _ nice _ clit, a little bigger the second time, after how much Crowley had loved playing with it, sucking on it. He’s _ beautiful_. He _ feels _ beautiful.

“Crowley, Crowley… Crowley? Oh, you will, won’t you? Give it all to me?”

“Everything I’ve got.” He promises, his voice low. “I have… I have something special for you-- have-- have something _ planned _ for you.”

“Oh, do you?” Aziraphale’s expression goes soft and dreamy. 

“You know how I like to take care of my precious, _ greedy _ angel.” He coos, leaning down to kiss the column of his throat. So soft… so tempting.

“Crowley!” A sharp little whine, easily soothed with a few nips to that throat.

“Be good to me, now.” Crowley chuckles. “Be sweet to me… I planned such a _ nice _ treat for you, love, but I don’t have to give it to you if you’re not going to be nice.”

“I’m _ always _ nice.” He pouts, and holds on tighter, wraps one leg up around Crowley’s. “I _ love _ you. My own dear one, I am _ always _ sweet for you.”

“Are you, or are you a bit saucy? A bit tart?”

“No, no, I’m always good for _ you_, my love!” And he protests with such _ feeling_. He rather sounds like he believes it.

Not that Crowley would change him, tart and saucy as he may get. Aziraphale’s a right bastard, but he’s _ Crowley’s _ right bastard. 

“Brat.” He says fondly, and kisses him deeply before he might protest that as well. “You _ whined _ at me, when I called you greedy, and you _ know _ you are.”

“Only for you.” Aziraphale pouts so hard that Crowley simply _ has _ to bite his lip. “Mmm-- oh, Crowley! Only for you because I love you so much. I can never have my fill of you.”

“We’ll see about that.” Crowley grins and toys with his clit-- just a little, just a tease, before he leaves it alone and licks his fingers clean. “We’ll see if I can’t _ sate _ you.”

“Oh, Crowley… you’re so wonderful to me. You’re so-- oh, you’re so_ good_.”

“Easy to be good to _ you_, angel. Your body feels so _ good _ … so _ soft_, I could just sink into you, and so _ hot_. Love taking you like this…”

“Is it very different?” He asks. Crowley has never manifested a vulva-- even passing through the world as a woman now and then, he likes his genitalia as-is, and if no one else sees, it hardly matters. Anyway, if he did, Aziraphale wouldn’t be interested in it the same way. He’d go down, Crowley thinks, because it’s them, and he’d like it, it wouldn’t be an obligation. Or they’d grind against each other, use their hands, invest in something double-ended. 

“Mm… it’s not… it’s not quite the same? It’s… the tightest point’s different, the texture’s different, neither’s better or worse to me. But it’s… it’s just like being _ held _ by you… the way you make me feel. It’s _ such _ a good fit, love. Like your body was made for me.”

“Parts of it were.” He giggles, and winds his fingers through Crowley’s hair. “It’s different for me, too. Equally good, just… different. It feels best at a different angle, and sometimes I like it slower… I don’t know. Nothing much is _ different_, but _ I _ feel different. Only a little. More like… some days it’s just what I want, and some days it isn’t-- _ oh_, oh, that’s nice!”

“You smell different. You taste different-- only a little.”

“Yes, you’ve said. You said it was sweeter.”

“And the aroma is stronger. Sharper, less… less something, and more something else. Still got that Heavenly musk, but it’s… it must be the way it travels to me.” Crowley laps at his skin, the sweat that tastes of sunshine and gold, of ozone, of sweet water or some unearthly fruit. Inhuman and complex.

Of course, Aziraphale doesn’t need to sweat, but at Crowley’s request, he allows himself to. Crowley doubts he’d enjoy the scent of any human sweat… He likes _ theirs_\-- his own is dark and smoky, a counterpoint to ethereal lightness of Aziraphale’s. Neither of them subject to the chemical funk of human skin, which he’s smelled enough before at a distance to know he wouldn’t lick it from a lover’s throat if you paid him. But then, his lover is an angel, and he’s never smelled of anything which wasn’t sweet and good. Downright intoxicating.

“Stronger?” Aziraphale blushes so hard that Crowley can feel the change in heat coming off him.

“Oh, yeah…” He goans. “Aziraphale, it’s so good. So good, drinking you in and knowing it’s all for me… knowing you’re hot for me… knowing you want me.”

“_Always_.” Aziraphale sighs, and pulls him in even closer. “Oh, my darling one, always. I am… _ ever _ desirous of your attentions.”

“Insatiable, that’s what you are… lucky for you, my ‘attentions’ are a never-ending supply.”

He speeds up, contorting himself just a little to be able to nip across his chest, tongue soothing over marks left by teeth one moment only to tease at a nipple the next, to bring Aziraphale there… he feels a new thrill of his own at the bite of neatly-trimmed nails into his shoulder.

“Good?” He huffs, lifting his head from Aziraphale’s chest, leaving one nipple firm and well-bitten-- and now, saliva-wet and exposed to the air.

“_Wonderful_.” Aziraphale shivers, head tilting back-- baring his throat to be nibbled some more.

“_You’re _ wonderful.” Crowley chuckles warmly, latching on to suck a little mark into being there. “Beautiful thing…”

Aziraphale moans, his hands tightening in Crowley’s hair, on his shoulder, his legs falling open wider. There’s a moment, the heave of his chest, the look on his face-- not completion, not yet, but closer.

“Oh, Crowley, oh, just like that…”

“That’s right, that’s _ right_, just like this, _ fuck_, you feel so _ good_…”

“You-- you--”

He’s so close, and the feel of his body responding is electrifying. Crowley’s hands and lips roam freely as he keeps the rhythm up, and when he feels Aziraphale still at the precipice, he lets himself tumble over, doesn’t stop moving until Aziraphale is there with him.

With a wave of the hand, he has the silicone plug he’d mentally designed earlier, ready to slide in as he slides out. He fits it into place, nice and snug.

“Ooh-- Crowley, what’s _ that_?”

“That’s to keep you nice and full and ready for round two, if you like it.” He sits himself up to get a good look at it. Red, with a bas relief apple on the base, reminiscent of the wax seal Crowley had used once upon a time… a detail Aziraphale will appreciate later.

“Did you make it for me special, my love?” He sighs, dreamy all over again. 

“I did… just for you. Wanted you… sealed.”

“_Oh_.” He smiles, reaching for him-- Crowley leans forward to rest his cheek in that plump, soft hand. “I’m yours.”

“That you are, my dove.” He pulls away once more, and dives down between Aziraphale’s thighs, to clean up the slick wet mess spread all around the plug-- most of it is Aziraphale’s, but he’s not one to quibble if there’s a dribble of his own that’s leaked free. It makes Aziraphale wriggle and squeal, which is reward enough for anything.

“Is this my something special?” He asks, when Crowley comes up for air at last.

“Not half of it. Wait here.”

Crowley kisses both of Aziraphale’s hands, before leaving the bed. Most of what he wants is set up, he can summon it all to hand when they’re ready, but it adds something to the anticipation, to leave the room and go to the kitchen. To get things set by hand. To think of the waiting pleasures of Aziraphale’s body as he he chooses his favorite champagne glasses, as he opens the bottle, as he pares the stems from the strawberries and slices the peach, as he dishes up the whipped cream…

The footed glass bowl, the pretty one Aziraphale likes so much… He can picture just how he’ll light up. Centers the bowl on the tray, with the fruit arranged all around, the lovely sunset colors of it…

He carries the champagne in by hand, brings the tray after with a snap of his fingers. 

“Oh, Crowley! You _ spoil _ me.” Aziraphale sits, reaching for his glass. 

“That I do. And don’t you deserve it, love… I want you _ greedy_.”

Aziraphale blushes, shifting a little-- and Crowley can see it on his face, when shifting feels _ different _ to him because of the plug.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” He says, but he eyes the whipped cream-- and he does spare a warm little smile for the fancy bowl, when Crowley might easily have used any old bowl and didn’t.

“Oh? Then you don’t want some of _ this_?” Crowley dips a berry in the cream and grins at the way Aziraphale sways towards him. “That’s what I thought…”

Sometimes he grumbles-- points out that it’s not greedy to like or even to want a thing, but then… then there are times like this, where he accepts it, because he knows Crowley wants him so. Where he licks his lips and leans in for real, flutters his lashes and accepts anything Crowley may tease him with for the pleasure of the teasing. 

“Well… you went to all the trouble…” He says, oh-so-innocent. “It would be a shame to let it go to waste.”

“Mm, yes, thought you’d say that, too.” He chuckles, offering it. “All right, then, have a taste.”

Aziraphale eats with his customary pleasure. He moans and sighs and wears completely ridiculous expressions of rapture, and juice dribbles down his chin and Crowley’s hand, and whipped cream is smeared across fingers, lip, nose. Aziraphale licks Crowley’s hand clean every time, holds onto his wrist and makes those soft, greedy little noises, halfway to distress if Crowley starts to pull back before he’s done, and the fruit disappears, bite by bite. 

And Crowley licks a dribble of mingled peach and strawberry juice from the soft swell of Aziraphale’s chest, and from his chin, and he kisses away the last stray bit of whipped cream that Aziraphale hadn’t found himself, with a questing tongue. 

“Never can resist you like this…” He hums, nuzzling a meandering path towards Aziraphale’s ear and nipping at him. 

“What, sticky?”

“_Yes_.” He swipes his finger through the bowl, gathering up as much of the last little bit of whipped cream as demonically possible. Sticky with spilled juices, spilled champagne, with sex or with sugar, sticky and _ greedy _ and _ his_… 

“Well, as long as you promise to clean me up after…”

“Don’t I always? Mm, Aziraphale?”

“Yes, dear?”

“You… you’d like to be sweet for me tonight? I mean-- good for me?” He pulls back, searching Aziraphale’s face for the answer. There are things he won’t start, if he’s not sure Aziraphale’s ready to go there. It’s one thing to have a bit of a tease, to do things he is reasonably sure of, when everything is easily stopped with a word, but pushing too far without asking… well, it probably wouldn’t wind up anywhere good. But a bit of teasing on its own isn’t a guarantee, for that he’s got to ask.

Aziraphale’s smile is answer enough on its own, the way it spreads, soft and warm, from the curve of his lips to the light in his eyes, before he gives a shy nod. 

“I’m _ always _ good for you.” He repeats, and it was all teasing before, all a bit of banter, and even the pouting and the whining was in jest. This is no jest. This is Aziraphale letting something settle deep inside him, something that softens him. 

“Wait.” Crowley says, before he can let himself sink too far into the idea. “Is there anything you don’t want? Or do I get my way with you?”

“I’m utterly at your disposal. Do with me what you will.” He wriggles, settling himself back down even more firmly into the nest of pillows on their bed. 

“You know how to stop me if you need to.” Crowley kisses his forehead. He doesn’t expect Aziraphale will, but he always likes to remind him he may. 

“I know.” Aziraphale wraps his arms around him, gaze adoring. “I was hoping… with all the teasing, and when you got a plug out. I was hoping you’d want to. Then you brought me a treat and I thought maybe you were already done with just the teasing.”

“Oh no… I have more treats to give.” Crowley promises. “For good little angels only.”

And there’s the proof-- if he’d needed it-- because if Aziraphale wasn’t in the mood, he’d say _ ‘I’m not that good an angel_’, or perhaps ‘_I’m hardly little_’. And that would be fine. Crowley would say ‘_I think you’re a good enough angel’ _ , or perhaps _ ‘not where it counts, no_’. Then he’d give him a squeeze and they might tumble about in bed trading kisses and… it would still be fun. But the wide eyed silence and the things it promises are better. At Crowley’s earnest request, all the bratty, catty bastard in Aziraphale is tucked away for later. 

He rearranges the pillows beneath Aziraphale, gets his hips angled just so, but he leaves the plug right where it is, draping himself over Aziraphale’s front and kissing him. Exploring his mouth, his throat… seeking out every soft hollow aching for his attention. 

Well… not _ every _ soft hollow. He can feel the heat between Aziraphale’s thighs, knows he’s ready. The plug fits him nicely, but it’s not enough for him to be filled… he likes to be fucked. No-- he _ needs _ to be fucked, when he’s like this. It’s not about pleasure, though Crowley certainly likes providing him with pleasure-- he’d learned that the last time, when he’d brought him to the height of pleasure over and over again only for Aziraphale, sweet, soppy creature that he is, to worry he hadn’t _ liked _ the new effort. To worry Crowley hadn’t _ liked _ what they’d done. 

It’s not that he isn’t happy with other things. They do other things in bed all the time, or they curl up and sleep, and Crowley _ always _ enjoys going down on him no matter what he’s got going on, it’s…

It’s this, the connection between them, the undeniable proof that Crowley desires him and that he pleases Crowley… that’s what he needs, when he puts himself in Crowley’s hands like this. They don’t have to have sex as part of it, but if they do, it can’t be one-sided, or he’ll worry he’s doing something wrong. 

It’s different, that’s all, and they’re learning what works for the pair of them, but they’ve gotten enough experience now that there are things Crowley is confident in. He’s confident in _ this_, though it’s different from what they’ve done before. He’s excited for it.

“Aziraphale…” He pauses, tone shifting back to ‘important ground work’ mode. “Aziraphale? When I do come in you, like this… where does it… go?”

Aziraphale blinks, pulling himself back from the pull of full, mindless submission-- easy enough at this stage, but not as fun as starting to let go. 

“My dear, it’s a bit late to ask if you can get me pregnant. You can’t, by the way.”

“No, yeah, but what’s it hooked up to? I mean… is it just a cul-de-sac in there, or is there a womb, or… what?”

“Well it’s not a _ womb_. It can’t support life. There aren’t any ovaries. But yes, it’s not just a _ cul-de-sac_, it’s… a cosmetic uterus, I guess you could say.”

Crowley laughs. “Cosmetic?”

“Oh, you know. It felt a bit incomplete not to have it all end with _ something_, but I didn’t want to be irresponsible. If you’re going to make fun--”

“Never.” He promises, and kisses him. “No, that’s good. It’s a bit silly to put words to it, that’s all, but no, I think it’s perfect. Really. I just wondered how you did it, and… I don’t know. What you like about it.”

“I like feeling you. Close to me… in me. Filling me.” He sighs. 

“You’d like to be full with me? _ Heavy _ with me? Like the thought of my seed filling your womb?”

“It’s not really--”

“Not really a womb, mm, I know. But it’s close enough, isn’t it? You like the thought of something of me so deep within you… becoming a part of you?”

“Yes. Because you want to be close to me, too, because you need to feel me, because you love me.” He wraps his arms around Crowley, his eyes wide. Lovely eyes, like the crest of a wave.

“Oh, I do. On all counts. And I want to _ fill you up_.”

Aziraphale shivers, and holds on tighter. “Oh, Crowley, _ please_… Please, I need you, I need it to be you. I want you inside of me… please, I want to feel you, I want to be everything you need...”

“Spoilt, that’s what you are…” He croons into Aziraphale’s ear, his voice soft and low. “Got me here ready to give you every little thing you ask for. And you _ do _ ask so nicely…”

He grinds himself against Aziraphale just a little more, against the silky warmth of his thighs, until he’s rock hard, and he parts those thighs further. Slips the plug out and slides home. 

“Oh, Crowley… oh, you treat me so _ well_…”

“Only as well as you deserve, pet.” He sighs, holding still and savoring the moment, the pulse of Aziraphale’s walls around him, every fluttery twitch of muscle he can feel as they start to move together, nice and slow… 

He takes Aziraphale’s hand, lacing their fingers together, and Aziraphale sighs, eyes fluttering closed. 

“How does it feel?”

“Good. Wonderful. Oh-- oh, _ Crowley_…” A few tears leak out, glittering in his pale lashes, and Crowley shifts them both, leans up and tilts Aziraphale to him so that he can kiss them away. “Oh, Crowley… you fill up the emptiness in me. I’m so _ empty _ sometimes without you.”

“Oh, sweet little dove… and you for me.” He whispers, their faces close together, his hips moving in slow circles. “When you offer yourself to me, I forget what it felt like to Fall… when I can sink deep into your love, there’s no room in me for emptiness, there’s only us. There’s only us.”

Aziraphale squeezes his hand tight and trembles beneath him. He’s so _ open _ in times like this… He’s often open with Crowley, more than with anyone else, and now that both sides have seemed to settle on ignoring what they get up to together, he never has to pull back from it for plausible deniability. But to be open like this… to feel everything to such a degree, to take down the necessary walls he puts up between his heart and the world? He’d be a weeping wreck all the time, if he didn’t, Crowley knows. Empathy, for Aziraphale, is not what it is for most people, it’s a _ force_, and while he can name emotions-- love, guilt, sadness, happiness-- it doesn’t mean he understands. It’s just other people’s hearts hammering ceaselessly at his own, and it’s all people, always… it’s a jumble, and it’s impossible to know what’s signal and what’s noise if he doesn’t wall himself up and only let in the things he’s focused on or searching for. 

With how baffling and upsetting he tends to find it when he does find himself hit with other people’s feelings, it means something, that he welcomes Crowley’s. And in return, Crowley can sense his. 

They’re still separate, there’s no blurring in it here, their positions and experiences in this moment are too different. But Crowley sees Aziraphale clearly, sees his heart, sees his longing, sees the way something in him has gone gooey and shapeless because Crowley is the vessel he entrusts himself to to shape him, Crowley is what will keep everything in him from leaking onto the floor. He can sense the enormity of Aziraphale’s trust. He can taste his love.

And in return, he thinks Aziraphale can see how determined he is never to break that trust. He thinks Aziraphale can taste his own devotion. It’s a different shape, that’s all. 

“That’s all right, that’s good.” Crowley whispers. They can’t keep the connection open forever-- they’ve tumbled into it before, when they weren’t playing defined roles, and it was sweet, but it leaves Aziraphale with one hell of a hangover, the kind that can’t be miracled away. “Close the door, love, come on… you know how I feel, it won’t change.”

“I just…”

“I know. So do I. But you’re drunk on me already and we’ve hardly started. Shh, come on, it’ll only get harder. Walls up, I promise I’ll make you feel everything. But you remember last time…”

With that, Aziraphale does wall himself off again-- the last time, he’d been so beautiful, so ecstatic and wild, they had reveled in the melding of their hearts, and then Aziraphale’s control had faltered and suddenly the whole block had assaulted him with every emotion. It had rather ruined the sex for both of them, and Aziraphale had needed to recover, and he’d been grumpy about it. Crowley thinks it’s something of a design flaw in the angelic empathy, because it certainly doesn’t make Aziraphale any more sympathetic, it makes him itchy to stay away from anyone who’s suffering, and irritable with them whenever he catches too much of it. 

Or maybe the flaw was in declaring the age of miracles over, and leaving him with an acute sense of who could use one. After all, if he were allowed to just fix people’s problems, it wouldn’t be a problem for _ him_.

“That’s all right.” Crowley continues, in his gentlest Dom voice. “We have our own way, don’t we? I know just how to get past those pesky walls, without you taking them down. I know just how to make you feel we’re a part of each other. We are a part of each other, Aziraphale. We’ll always be.”

“Oh yes…”

“That’s right… that’s right… I’m in you. Your body welcomes me in because it knows I belong here, with you… that you deserve to be full with me. That even when I pull away, my love is with you… Do you feel that, Aziraphale? Do you feel how much I cherish you? You’re mine, and nothing will ever change that. Nothing will ever take you from me. Nothing will ever, ever part us now. I won’t let it. And I won’t let you ever forget how loved you are. My angel… _ mine_.”

He gives a single rough thrust, after keeping things slow and shallow so long, and Aziraphale gasps, eyes fluttering open once more, mouth forming a perfect ‘oh’.

“_Yours_.” He says at last, swallows hard around the word. “Crowley, _ yours_. You take such care of me… I don’t deserve someone as good as you. I mean _ really_\-- I mean truly good the way people are, or better, not-- not like-- you know. The way they’re all Good, only-- only it doesn’t mean anything. But you mean so much, everything you do means so much, and you-- and you love me, oh, _ Crowley_, and I love you!”

He hadn’t intended to really speed things up, but Aziraphale’s words pull at his heartstrings and he’s just a marionette. He has to reward every sweet word, has to give Aziraphale more, has to hit that spot, has to kiss him, until they’re both tumbling over… 

Well, that was only round two, he reasons. It’s all right if it was a bit shorter, he can make up for it. He plugs Aziraphale up once more, cleans him up once more, and rearranges their nest of pillows again so that Aziraphale can lounge semi-upright, instead of having his head down and his nethers up in the air. 

He pours him another glass of champagne, and holds it to his lips for him, smiling indulgently as he allows him little sips. 

“Did you work up an appetite?” He asks, and watches Aziraphale perk up a bit in interest. “Can I tempt you with another treat?”

A snap of his fingers, and he has Aziraphale’s deviled egg tray, the pale blue milk glass edged with gold, the dozen eggs already set into place in anticipation of his wanting them.

He feeds Aziraphale by hand, groaning when velvet tongue swirls around sensitive fingertips, and the slight smear of egg is a very bare excuse for it. Watches like a hawk with every bite swallowed, always eager to push the next bite on him-- and Aziraphale is always eager to accept, thanking him so sweetly for everything he gives, though halfway through the tray he’s no longer wolfing them down so enthusiastically. 

“Had enough?” Crowley asks, and pops one into his own mouth. Washes it down with a swallow of champagne. 

“Perhaps… we should save the rest for later?”

“Oh… if you like. But I have some other treats set aside for later… and I was so hoping we’d get through it all… I think we can polish these off. I’ll help.”

He eats two, to Aziraphale’s ten, in the end, but that still counts as helping. And after all, his encouragement has to count for something, the murmurs of ‘that’s right’ and ‘you’re so good’ that follow each nibble. He knows Aziraphale’s capacity. He knows this doesn’t overdo it by a long shot. 

And he loves seeing Aziraphale eat. _ Loves _ it. Watching his lips, listening to him moan, seeing the way his eyes light up-- and on the best occasions, roll back-- when a dish is just right. Knowing the pleasure Aziraphale gets from it, too, knowing how he likes to feel _ full_, and not just where sex is concerned. His mouth, his stomach, he finds satisfaction in that feeling of fullness that comes from food, and Crowley sometimes feels as if he exists to give it to him. To provide. To… to _ nurture_. To see Aziraphale feeling safe and happy, to bask in his physical pleasure and his desire. To fill him up in every way. 

“Thank you, Crowley.” Aziraphale repeats once more after the last bite and the last sip of champagne. He idly rubs at his stomach, and Crowley is ready for round three. “That is nice…”

“Let me.” He orders, and Aziraphale immediately removes his hand, only for it to be replaced by Crowley’s two. He doesn’t need his belly rubbed-- not yet-- but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t feel nice, for both of them. To knead gently at him and listen to him groan. “Mm, _ mine_.”

“Ever yours.” Aziraphale sighs, and relaxes fully. His smile twitches, when Crowley reaches between his thighs to tease at him, running his fingers around the plug, toying with his clit. He squirms and hums with pleasure. 

“You’re so lovely… I would do anything for a taste of something so sweet.” He says, and licks his fingers for emphasis before returning them to their task.

“You can taste me any time.”

“I would fight the armies of Heaven and Hell for you.” He continues, the one hand continuing to tease Aziraphale’s clit and the other reaching up to run through his hair. “Protect you from all harm. You’d never have to face them, you’d never have to lift your sword again, I’d keep you safe as houses. Wrap you up in my wings and take you away, and no one would ever bother you again. You belong to me and I won’t let anyone touch you.”

Maybe it’s a fantasy, but it’s a fantasy he needs sometimes. They haven’t been bothered, but the fear is still there at times, that one side or the other might take a closer look. Something about pretending he could beat them all back singlehanded, the sheer absurdity of the idea, it makes him feel better. And when he has Aziraphale like this, he feels a bit like he could. He could do anything, if it was to keep Aziraphale safe and happy. 

“Oh, Crowley…” He nuzzles at Crowley’s wrist. “My _ hero_… my brave knight. I know. I know. Nothing could ever happen to me so long as you’re here. You’ll take _ care _ of me.”

It would be laughable, if he wasn’t so incredibly earnest. Aziraphale had been ready to fight at the end of it all, sword in hand, Crowley had been anything but prepared for battle. Not that Aziraphale could have protected him, either, if it had gone differently, but… well, but under most circumstances, Crowley thinks he could do worse than to trust in Aziraphale for protection. 

But Aziraphale doesn’t want to fight anyone, and so if they are to retreat into a fantasy, it will be a fantasy where Crowley can do that for him. Crowley, the brave knight, and Aziraphale the sheltered noble he loves, one who lives merely to be pampered and protected. Aziraphale, who has spent so long worrying about what’s Right, who has spent so long wanting so much and giving himself so little… Oh, yes, he has always had his little vices, his collections, his love of food, he’s allowed himself to be lazy, but back in the days when miracles were louder, flashier, more common, more obvious, Aziraphale had had nothing but his work. He’d wandered for so long and while he hadn’t denied himself all comforts, he’d denied himself enough.

He’d denied himself this, and so had Crowley. 

Aziraphale is a hedonist of epic proportions, but for much of human history he has denied himself one thing or another-- and to deny himself anything, Crowley thinks, is a crime. He’s made to take pleasure in the world, it’s _ wrong _ for him to ever go without. Slowly, he’s let himself have more and more of what he desires, to look at him now you might think he’d always been thus, but Crowley has seen him in all his miserable attempts at living humbly. He’s seen denial on Aziraphale and he’s made it his personal goal to put a stop to that.

“Up, hands and knees.” He taps Aziraphale’s hip gently, and once more they shove pillows around for Aziraphale’s comfort. “Come on, I want my taste. You did say it was mine… ‘any time’, I believe you said.”

“Yes, Crowley.” Aziraphale practically glows, assuming the position for him. The _ noise _ he makes when Crowley spreads him open… and when he _ starts_.

Aziraphale always falls apart for this, and all the more when they’re like this together. There are other times, when Aziraphale wants to fuss over him and take a bit more control of things, and Crowley is content to let him, happy to lie back and be ridden, happy to lazily follow where he’s led, to have his hair washed or be brought breakfast in bed not because he has ordered it but because Aziraphale wants to, they aren’t one of those couples who live in those roles, but even without them, this… this always makes Aziraphale melt.

Crowley circles that waiting hole lightly, then flicks back and forth across it, loving the way Aziraphale reacts for him. It’s the forked tongue-- Aziraphale’s wild for it. And normally, Crowley likes to keep his tongue looking human even when he’s home, cuts down on the accidental hissing, but if it feels good for Aziraphale, then that’s all he needs to know, to relax his control and let his inner serpent come out. 

He teases ‘til he has him twitching and trembling wanting more, and then he slides in. Moans into him as he tongue-fucks him, indulges in the sweet heat of his body… Indulges in the wetness of it, the sounds of his own mouth against Aziraphale’s welcoming flesh. Feels him clench and spasm in sheer carnal bliss. 

Aziraphale goes from his hands and knees, to his elbows and knees, to resting on his chest on one of the pillows, arse in the air, and only then does Crowley ease up, delighting in the whimper when his tongue finally slips free. 

“Oh, don’t worry, love, I won’t leave you wanting…” He growls, giving the back of one plump thigh a nip. Gets another pillow under Aziraphale to prop him up more comfortably before he once more removes the plug and eases his aching cock in, groaning at the welcome heat, the closeness. He’d worked himself up as much as he had Aziraphale, going down on him, and it feels so good to be back in him, joined again… 

He takes him hard and fast this time, neither of them holding back on the noises, until he’s spilling over deep within him. He kisses the back of Aziraphale’s neck, and all across from shoulder to shoulder, before he re-settles him into a new position. Summons up sandwiches for him, neat crustless triangles, cheese and cucumber. 

“What do you say, love? Have you worked up and appetite for me?”

Aziraphale gives him an adoring look and very obediently opens his mouth, though Crowley doubts he’s really hungry. Still, he eats every bite Crowley pushes past his lips, kisses his fingertips at every opportunity, full of reverence and gratitude. He clings to Crowley’s wrist, after the last sandwich, cuddles his hand close and kisses his fingers, licks them free of imaginary crumbs. 

“Still hungry, turtledove?” He smirks, slides two fingers into Aziraphale’s mouth, caresses his tongue.

“Mm-mm.” 

“Just hungry for _ me_?”

“Mm-hm.” He smiles around Crowley’s fingers, sucks at them. 

“You shall have me, then.” The smirk becomes a grin, and Crowley indulges him a little longer, lets the finger-sucking reignite the fire in him. Aziraphale is so… _ dedicated_. Sucks at him and softly moans, and slips his tongue around between Crowley’s fingers, laves over the pads… he makes love to them with admirable focus. _ Whines _ when Crowley steals his prize back from him. “Oh, you want what you’ll get next… don’t you worry about that, angel.”

He rolls Aziraphale onto his side, hikes one leg up, spoons behind him. Undulates against him smooth and slow, a far cry from the last round, and sometimes he presses himself fully to Aziraphale’s back, and other times he contorts himself to be able to press desperately loving kisses to his back, to the places where his wings would start from. He could coax them out, but that’s best left for another time-- in this position, they wouldn’t enjoy it much if he did. Still, he knows he can. The right touches and a bit of sweet talk, and out they’d pop for him. Another time… 

He has his goal for today, after all. Pumping Aziraphale full of his come, round after round, until his pseudo-womb is full of it, until he can feel it inside him. And stuffing him full of everything else. Oh yes, until that soft belly is swollen firm, until between the one and the other, Aziraphale is so achingly full he wouldn’t dream of more… Just once, to sate him utterly. 

He cheats a little, makes his own orgasms more productive, because even before they’d decided to pretend he didn’t exist, Hell had never looked into his miracles. Somewhere there might be a memo floating around ‘Demonic Miracle Performed, 3 PM, Soho, Crowley Increased Volume Of Several Orgasms’, but if there is, no one is going to read it.

Aziraphale is cuddlier each time, it seems-- he clenches tight around him at the end to try and hold him a little longer, presses even closer with a sigh, and lets Crowley rub at his filling belly. Still soft and squeezable, and the squeezing doesn’t make him whine or squirm away. 

“Do you feel my love for you?” He whispers in Aziraphale’s ear. “Do you feel me? You couldn’t do anything I didn’t want you to now… and I couldn’t do anything you don’t want. Isn’t that right? You feel how we’re one?”

Crowley can feel the way his muscles jump, his abs, his thighs, the ever-contracting walls that squeeze at Crowley’s cock still. 

“Oh, yes… Crowley, yes!” He practically sobs, lets Crowley slip free at last and return the plug to its place. 

“Such a good boy.” He purrs, rolls Aziraphale onto his back and cuddles right back up against him, feels the side of Aziraphale’s belly, warm against his own. “Oh, you’re so good…”

Aziraphale is reduced to soft little sounds and looks of love, but those alone speak volumes. _ Thank you, Crowley_. _ You take such good care of me_. _ I exist to please you_.

He assumes he’s pushed him into that pleasant hazy point past speech, but when he summons up the cheese plate and the bunch of grapes, Aziraphale gives him that starry-eyed look again, and a dizzy little gasp. 

“_Crowley _ … you take such _ care _ of me! Oh, you… you do, you know just what I like. Oh, Crowley, you’re really very wonderful, no one’s ever been so wonderful as you, not to me. No one ever could be.”

Crowley kisses him, and pops a grape into his mouth. Every so often, a dam bursts in Aziraphale and he has to say those sweet things-- things Crowley spent centuries hushing him over. Aziraphale needs to give and to receive affirmation, Crowley understands that now, but at first it had been painful to hear him give voice to them, to hear Aziraphale’s haltingly spoken but unwaveringly felt faith in his own goodness. It had hurt to be trusted in like that when no one else ever would, and then it had been embarrassing, and now…

Now, he can’t get enough of it, and he can’t get enough of praising Aziraphale in return. He can’t get enough of any of it. 

“You deserve it.” He promises, and he takes Aziraphale through all his favorite cheeses. 

He feeds Aziraphale all of the cheese, though he orders Aziraphale to feed him some of the grapes, reclining and opening his mouth to get a little pampering of his own, adoringly delivered. Aziraphale kisses his chin, as if Crowley’s lips were sacred territory he daren’t tread uninvited, and Crowley rewards him with a real kiss, cradling his head in his hands. 

“Beautiful.” He whispers against Aziraphale’s lips. “Beautiful… and _ mine_.”

“_Oh, Crowley_…”

Crowley rolls him onto his back again and feels him tremble in his arms, and his eyes are so wide and shining, and it really does feel… it feels like those walls between them are gone, and something in Aziraphale speaks directly to something in him. 

His love, his devotion, the security he feels, how happy he is in this moment, his desires, it all pours out into Crowley, and Crowley pours right back. All his own care, all his own need, all his own adoration… how gratified he feels when Aziraphale trusts him like this.

He kisses his way down Aziraphale’s chest, down over the swell of his belly. Frames it in his hands and covers all of it with kisses, until Aziraphale is eager to be loved up again, and he slides up between his thighs, kneeling on the bed and urging Aziraphale’s legs to wrap around his waist.

Another round, more vigorous, more of his release, the slight slosh when he continues to thrust into Aziraphale. He doesn’t pull out this time, just holds still between rounds as he feeds Aziraphale bites of scone with clotted cream. Fingerfuls of clotted cream, and every now and then he smears a little over Aziraphale’s lower lip, and licks it away himself. He doesn’t get any messier than that-- for all the earlier teasing about liking him sticky, it’s not about the mess. 

Liking him greedy, though… that still stands.

He relishes every hum and moan as he pushes little bites past Aziraphale’s lips, summons everything he’s had prepared to hand-- the perfect little jewel-like fruit tart, more little sandwiches, roast beef this time, a little spinach pastry, and a pint of vanilla ice cream. 

It’s too much, or it’s close enough to too much, and even without moving, Crowley comes twice just from the pleasure of feeding him, watching him, feeling him. Aziraphale, draped across pillows, just upright enough to be fed full to bursting, to see him squirm and frown when pleasure becomes discomfort.

“One more bite.” He says, scooping up the very last, melting spoonful of ice cream, and Aziraphale doesn’t refuse. He opens wide and he swallows, and he whimpers until Crowley rubs his belly. “There, that’s a good boy… oh, that’s my sweet angel… _ Beautiful_…”

His belly is taut and firm and round, and he whines when Crowley jiggles or squeezes him too much, but makes no real protest, trusts him to feel out what does and doesn’t feel good. Crowley repays his trust by doing his level best to massage him gently, despite the temptation to grope. He pulls out one last time, and plugs him, before settling in to lavish his belly with kisses. 

“Crowley…” He sighs, one hand clumsily tangling in Crowley’s hair. 

“Do you feel all right?”

“Mm-hm.” He nods.

“As good as you look?” Crowley grins and kisses him again, just over the spot where his navel would be, making him laugh softly. “You look a treat, you know. And you feel so good… you’re so _ full_, love, are you satisfied?”

“_Oh, yes_.” Aziraphale’s smile is dizzily beatific. 

“Have you had enough?”

He groans, his free hand joining Crowley’s over his stomach, but he looks pleased with himself.

“And have you had enough of me?”

“For now… until you need to have me again. Thank you, Crowley.”

“Thank _ you_.” Crowley rests his cheek against Aziraphale’s belly, feeling him groan a little at the weight pressing in. When Aziraphale shifts, Crowley can _ hear _ how full he is, and he just wants to stay where he is forever and listen… “Try having a nap, love-- after how much you’ve had, it’ll feel right. When you wake up, I’ll draw you a nice, hot bath… You were wonderful, Aziraphale. You were perfect.”

“And you, to me…” Aziraphale says, and he closes his eyes to try sleep. 

With Crowley rubbing at his stomach, he manages.


End file.
